by Cynthia Eden
No. It wouldn’t. Ryder was healing already.
“I didn’t intend for them to shoot you in the heart.” Wyatt frowned at the guards. “Errors like that cannot be tolerated here.”
The guy was fucking psycho.
A bullet to the heart wasn’t normally an error. It was murder.
“You’re just . . . gonna watch . . . her die?” Ryder yanked at the chains and didn’t care when they cut into his wrists. He’d heal. He always healed.
She won’t.
“Yes.” Wyatt nodded and offered an almost absent smile. “Yes, I am.”
Her eyes were on Ryder—her eyes . . .
He saw the life leave them. Actually saw a veil of nothing sweep into her stare. “No!” He yanked at the chains, twisting his hands, breaking his wrists as he fought to get free. He smashed his fingers as he tried to jerk his hand through the ring that bound his wrist. He didn’t feel the pain as he struggled.
Dead.
“Exit,” Wyatt snapped. “Now.”
The guards started hauling ass. They were leaving her like that? Just sprawled on the floor like a broken doll?
Maybe there was still time. His right wrist shattered. Maybe.
“If I were you, I wouldn’t move,” Wyatt advised Ryder with a quick frown as he paused by the door. “This is her first change. I have no idea how powerful it will be.”
Ryder didn’t understand the bastard. He was moving, all right. Won’t give up. Won’t—
The door slammed shut behind Wyatt and his men. And . . . the scent of smoke teased Ryder’s nose.
What the hell?
His gaze snapped back to Sabine. Her eyes were still open, only her eyes weren’t dark brown any longer. The brown was changing, turning to a gold; then they seemed to burn red.
Red like fire.
The scent of smoke deepened around him. Ryder pulled his broken right hand free. The other—
Her body began to burn.
He yelled then, roaring her name, but the fire didn’t stop. It blazed hotter, higher, and swept over Sabine’s slender form. The white-hot heat from the blaze rushed over his skin, almost singeing him. Sprinklers erupted with a powerful spray from overhead, and the water drenched him, but did nothing to stop the blaze that consumed Sabine.
His breath heaved out. Ryder stopped fighting for his freedom. There was nothing to be done. No one could come back from those flames.
So there was nothing for him to do in the end but watch the fire burn, to hate himself for the monster that he was, and to wish that Sabine Acadia had never had the misfortune to walk into his prison.
As he watched, something began to move within those flames. She moved, and Ryder realized that Wyatt’s experiments were just getting started.
Even though she’d died right in front of him, even though Sabine was burning, it sure looked like she was trying to rise from the fire.
Cassie shoved her way through the crowd, muttering apologies as she bumped into various paranormal beings—and humans—who filled Taboo. Since the paranormals had stopped pretending they didn’t exist—and gotten wild with their coming-out party—clubs like Taboo had popped up in all the major cities in the U.S. and around the world.
Dante stood against the back wall. The vampire, a woman with long red hair and a way too short skirt, had her hands all over him. Bloodred nails, of course. Typical. The redhead was arching up on her toes and putting her mouth close to Dante’s neck.
“Okay. You’re just going to need to get away from him,” Cassie snapped as she closed in on them.
The vampire froze.
Dante tilted his head to the side and glanced curiously over at Cassie. Was there any recognition in his dark gaze?
Of course not.
To him, she could have been any stranger off the street.
Don’t let it hurt. Don’t. Dante couldn’t help what he was.
But he could get the hell away from that trashy vamp.
The vampire spun toward Cassie and hissed. Wait. Hissed, really?
Cassie barely controlled an eye roll.
“Get lost,” the vamp told her, baring her fangs. “He’s mine.”
Think again.
Cassie’s hands were clenched into fists, and it took all her self-control not to swing out at the chick. “No, he’s not.” Said definitely. She looked past the vampire. “Dante, we need to leave.”
He stiffened.
That’s right. I know your name. Why, oh, why can’t you know something about me? Anything?
But that was the way it always was for them.
She kept holding Dante’s gaze. “Trust me on this,” Cassie said. “You don’t want her sinking those fangs into you.” Dante’s blood was special, and rather addictive to vampires. If the redhead got one sip, she wouldn’t be backing away from him anytime soon.
Then I’d have to stake her. Oh, what a pity.
“Dante, we can—” Cassie’s words ended in a gasp.
The vampire had lunged forward and wrapped her hand around Cassie’s throat. With that one hand, she lifted Cassie off her feet. “Maybe I’ll just sink my fangs into you, bitch.” She leaned her head in close to Cassie and whispered, “Because no one gets between me and my meal.”
“Y-you . . . don’t . . . want—” Cassie tried to choke out the words but it was hard to speak, um, what with the vamp actually choking her and all. She was trying to tell the redhead . . . You don’t want to put your fangs in me. That would be a huge mistake.
But the vamp wasn’t giving her the time to talk.
“Let her go.” Dante’s voice. Cold. Flat. And as deliciously deep as Cassie remembered.
The vampire’s eyes narrowed as she stared at her with a mix of disgust and rage. “You’re right. We don’t need her. We don’t—”
“I said . . . let her go.” The threat in Dante’s voice had goose bumps rising on Cassie’s arms. “And I meant do it now.”
The vamp dropped her.
Cassie landed on her ass. Figured. She’d never been the graceful type.
The redhead turned toward Dante. “Ready to leave?” she purred to him.
Purring. Hissing. The vamp was so annoying.
“You leave.” Dante sent her a look that could have frozen a desert. “I’m not done here.”
“But—”
“And I’m not your fucking meal,” he added, a touch of heat whipping through his words.
Ah, so he had heard that part. Cassie rather thought his enhanced hearing would pick it up.
The redhead glared at Dante, then at Cassie. A promise of retribution was in the vamp’s eyes.
Ah yes, another day, another enemy. Cassie swallowed and rose slowly to her feet.
“I’ll see you again,” the vampire murmured. The words were directed at Cassie, and they sure sounded like a threat.
Wonderful. As if she needed any more threats in her life.
Then the vampire was gone. Probably off to find another meal.
“Who are you?” His voice was a low rumble of sound, one that sent a few more shivers dancing over her skin. Maybe some people—okay, most people—would find that deep rumble scary.
To her, it was sexy. Because of Dante, she’d always had thing for men with deep voices.
She squared her shoulders and stared up at him. “Did you burn again?” She’d seen him just a few months before in New Orleans.
He’d saved her life then. Had actually seemed to remember her . . .
But now there was no recognition on his face.
She stared up at him. Those high cheekbones, that square jaw. The firm lips that she’d never seen smile, despite all her attempts to make him happy.
His eyes were dark, so dark that they appeared almost as black as the thick hair that hung a little too long and grazed the back of his shirt.
His eyes were watchful, guarded as they swept over her.
“Burn?” Dante repeated carefully.
In the next second, he lunged forward—his move fa
ster than the vamp’s had been. His hand—big, strong, hot—wrapped around Carrie’s arm and pulled her close against his chest. “Now just how the hell would you know about that?”
Cassie wasn’t as tall as the redhead. Not even close. She was barely skirting five foot five, so she had to tilt her head back to hold his gaze. Dante was at least six foot three, and the guy was built along some very muscled dimensions.
His hold tightened. “Answer me.”
His fingers seemed to heat up, and she knew his power was coursing through his blood. If she wasn’t careful, he might burn her. Just how much control did he have?
“Please,” Cassie kept her voice even with an extreme effort. “I’m not here to hurt you.” No, she was there to beg for his help. If he’d remembered her, even a little, that begging would have gone over much better.
She cleared her throat. “The burn must be fresh. Your memory usually comes back within a week or so after your rising.”
His face seemed to turn to stone.
Usually was the keyword. Dante had been through so much in the last few years. His memory was a very brittle thing. So was his sanity, a situation that made him a walking, talking nightmare for many.
“You must have been attacked,” she whispered. Attacked . . . and killed. Because death was the only way—
He lifted her up and tossed her over his shoulder.
Cassie yelped, totally not expecting that move. She shoved her hands against his ass—um, a very nice ass—and pushed herself up so she could see around her.
Some of the club’s patrons were looking at her, amusement on their faces. They weren’t exactly the kind to help a lady in distress. The redheaded vampire was staring her way. Glaring her way, rather. And Dante was stalking away with her, his grip on her legs unbreakable.
Okay, so that was one way to get his attention.
She heard the sound of shattering wood. Had he just smashed a door? Sounded like he had. Cassie tried to crane around and see where they were going. It looked like they were headed inside some kind of back room. Stacks of boxes and bottles of alcohol lined the shelves.
“Get the hell out of here!” Dante’s snarled order.
Three bodies ran past her, fast.
Then the world spun a bit, and Cassie found herself sprawled on top of a wooden table. Dante held one of her wrists in each of his hands, and he stood between her legs.
Oh, wow.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
“My name won’t matter to you.” She barely breathed the words. “If you rose recently—”
“Your name!”
“C-Cassie Armstrong. Cassandra . . .”
His eyelids flickered. “Cassandra.” He said her name as if he were tasting it.
Please, remember me. So many times over the years she was sure that he did remember her, but then the tortures would start again. Torture and death.
He’d lose the memory of her, and she’d have to try so hard to get close to him again. To make him remember.
An endless cycle that left her hurting inside.
“I’ve dreamed about you,” he whispered. His hold was an unbreakable grip on her wrists.
At his confession, her heartbeat picked up and hope blossomed inside her. Finally, finally, he’d—
“In my dreams”—a muscle flexed along his jaw—“you kill me, Cassie Armstrong.”
Oh, hell. “I told you. I’m not here to hurt you.”
“But you have killed me before, haven’t you?”
Cassie knew she had to be careful. She wasn’t like him. Dante could die, again and again, but he would just come back from each death.
He’d rise from the ashes and be born again.
While she would just—well, die. There would be no coming back for her.
With a thought, he could incinerate her. The heat that warmed her skin beneath his fingers could turn into a blazing inferno at any second.
“Last night, I dreamed about you.” His words were a low growl as he leaned closer to her. The noise from the bar drifted into the room. The blaring beat of music. The scents of sex, blood, and booze. “You stared right at me, then you stabbed me.”
His bad memories weren’t going to make things any easier.
“Maybe you should tell me why I shouldn’t just pay you back for that right now.” His breath blew lightly over the sensitive skin of her neck. “And end you.”
She shook her head, sending her long hair sliding over her shoulders. “Please . . .”
“Oh, I like it when you beg.”
Actually, he did. But that was another story.
“So you’ve had dreams . . .” Cassie started talking fast. She had seen him incinerate a man before. She didn’t want that same fate. “Well, I’m your key. I know you. Every dark spot in your mind? I can shine the light and show you—”
He leaned over her even more. His mouth was just inches from hers. Inches? More like an inch. “What are you going to show me?”
“Everything,” she whispered, promised. “I can tell you the secrets of your life. I can tell you who you are, if you’ll just trust me.”
His gaze searched hers. Some people thought that his eyes were just dark—mirroring his black soul, but they were wrong. There were flecks of gold hidden in his eyes. A person just had to look hard and deep enough to see them.
“Why should I trust a woman who’s killed me before?”
“Because I’ve saved you, too.” She’d risked so much to save him. “Believe it or not, you actually owe me.”
“I don’t believe it.”
Her lips trembled.
His gaze dropped once more to her mouth.
“Dante . . .”
He kissed her.
She hadn’t been expecting the move, and when his lips closed over hers, shock froze her for a moment. Then she realized—Dante.
Her lips parted eagerly for him, and the wall that she’d built to hold back her need for him started to fracture. His tongue pushed into her mouth. Not sampling, but taking, and it was just like she remembered. He kissed her, she wanted. Lust tore through her, and her wrists twisted in his grip because she needed to touch him.
She wanted—
His head lifted. His eyes blazed down at her, the gold starting to heat. “I remember . . . your mouth. Your taste.”
She’d never be able to forget his kiss. He’d been the first man that she ever kissed. The first to make her feel like she belonged to someone.
A someone who sometimes seemed to hate her.
“You can trust me,” she whispered to him, desperate to make him believe her.
He gave a hard shake of his head. “No, that’s the last thing I can do.” Then he was moving away from her, leaping back.
For an instant, she didn’t move. His eyes were on her, sweeping from the top of her hair down to her small sandals. He seemed confused. Yeah, well, so was she.
Don’t kiss me and jerk away. She didn’t have the damn plague.
“I woke up a week ago,” he told her quietly, his voice still making her ache. “In an alley that had been scorched. I was naked, and there were ashes all around me.”
Her heart beat faster as she straightened on the table.
“What happened to me?” he demanded.
“Dante, I—”
“Is that my name?” The memory loss seemed more severe than it had been in the past.
“Y-yes. That’s what you told me to call you.” But was it really his name? She wasn’t sure. He’d never confessed too much about his life—at least, not his life before he’d come to be a prisoner.
“What happened to me in the alley?”
Okay. If she was going to get his trust, then she was obviously going to have to share with him. “I think you died.”
He laughed. The sound was bitter and hard, just like the laughter she’d heard from him a dozen times. She’d tried for years to get a real laugh from him. That hadn’t happened.
“If I died,” he asked, “the
n how am I breathing now?”
That was the tricky-to-explain part. “Look, Dante—”
Shouts erupted from the other room. High-pitched, desperate screams that were immediately followed by the rat-a-tat of gunfire.
They found me.
Cassie’s heartbeat froze in her chest. Then she was the one leaping forward and grabbing Dante’s hand. “We have to go. Now.”
BRAVA BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2014 Cindy Roussos
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
BRAVA and the B logo are Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-0-7582-8404-4
First Electronic Edition: February 2014
ISBN-13: 978-0-7582-8406-8
ISBN-10: 0-7582-8406-3
